


clementine

by strawberryfire



Category: Dead Poets Society
Genre: Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Knox Is the Wingman Obvi, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, TW: Suicide Mention, modern au bc i want them to listen to hozier, oh the pinning, pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:47:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26000647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryfire/pseuds/strawberryfire
Summary: the ending of dead poets society, obviously.[ as stated in tags , there are mentions of suicide / hospitals !! ]
Relationships: Todd Anderson & Neil Perry, Todd Anderson/Neil Perry
Comments: 8
Kudos: 112





	clementine

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello i haven't written in a fic in so long so y'all have every right to roast the fuck outta me for how shit this is lmao,,,
> 
> also i know this has most certainly been written before but i want to do my own take!!
> 
> other than that uhhh dps is my current hyperfixation so come join me over on the tweeters if ya wanna blabber about this gay idiots 
> 
> t: ILLICTAFFA1RS   
> tumblr: strwbrryfire

He wasn't sure how, or _why,_ he was alive.

Why could he hear the monotone beep of a machine, the faint drip of an IV, the silent but identifiable sounds of the old medical ward? Welton was a loud place, Neil had learned. Not in a paranormal way, no...it creaked and moaned due to age and even when he was _supposed_ to be dead—he could hear the academy loud and clear. 

If his afterlife was _still_ this damned academy, Neil would find a way to kill himself _again_. 

But he soon noticed the rise and fall of his own chest. The way his wrist ached slightly in the position it was in. The mumbling of voices from the hall—one of which was certainly his father. They were talking about him. What exactly he didn't know. 

As much as Neil tried to open them, his eyelids were as heavy as his heart sunken in his body and all he could do was listen. He felt stuck in the uncomfortable hospital bed, the thin blanket over his cold legs felt like the snow he saw falling when he hit the ground. He couldn't speak either, even though he was wanting nothing more than to call for —

So this was a winless fight, he thinks. Or maybe something out there wasn't done with him yet; whether that be a good or bad thing, he wasn't sure. He didn't want to have to wake up to the same cycle, the same _winless fight_ with his father. He wants to cry, even though no tears will fall. Thus, here Neil lays. And he’ll be thankful soon enough that it's not in a casket.

Todd doesn't know, neither does anyone else. The whereabouts and condition of their haunted friend is a mystery, one that's eating away at them like the mold on the bathroom ceilings. 

The professors have, surprisingly, been quite... _lenient_ with the dead poets. They're being _nice_ for once. Of course, Mr. Keating is always nice, but that's beside the point. They were being easy on deadlines for assignments, understanding if they didn't show up to class. It was odd, but the boys knew not to take advantage of it. Mourning was a good enough excuse for slacking in the old hags’ books, apparently.

They're sat in the room Todd once, no _still,_ shared with Neil, trying their hardest to focus on the numbers and complicated words written across slightly tear stained notebook pages. 

“The air is dryer than usual today,” is what Meeks says as he sits on top of the radiator, looking out at the barren trees and the snow that just won't seem to _stop_. 

Charlie is the only one to acknowledge what the boy said, replying with a quiet ‘ _mhm.’_

For everyone else, the green sweaters and heavy coat days are going by at a snail's pace; time is still moving for them. It’s cold and there’s something missing, completely obvious to the school and it's walls what that absent piece is. But they're moving nonetheless.

However, Todd is _paralyzed_ , stuck in the morning he was told of the events that had transpired the evening before in the Perry household he had yet to visit. His knees sinking into the snow, the way he had screamed Neil’s name with a little bit too much heartbreak—it's like the tape came undone in whatever cassette played his life. Because he couldn't let the others know, because hell, even _Neil_ didn't know. 

Todd can't count the sleepless nights, the amount of times he's thrown up because of the anxiety tearing him apart. His hands were shaking at all times, his heart never seemed to slow down. It was a constant and consistent panic attack that _would not go away._

Knox wonders what Todd would say if he knew how Neil was looking at him that day in class with Mr. Keating.

Todd chews on his pencil, sitting on top of Neil’s bed, which he refused to let anyone else sit on. He hadn’t talked since that afternoon of them collectively crying and cursing at the sky in the near freezing temperatures. He kept telling himself to go talk to Keating, that he wouldn't dare tell a soul about the way Todd felt when Neil talked or looked at him in a way he shouldn't. It's not as if he didn't trust the other boys, he only knew deep down that if anyone could give him solid advice—it would be Mr. Keating. 

As soon as Todd’s about to start giving himself a pep talk in his own head, Knox slams his pencil down on his binder, “ _Damnit_!”

This was a regular occurance. Random outbursts followed by silent tears of frustration, confusion and a million other emotions that hung around like a ton of bricks on their shoulders. They never said anything, but Todd had had enough of watching this happen over and over. 

“Hey...look...I think we need to stop letting ourselves get eaten up...I know it's hard to accept but I…it wasn't something we could have controlled,” Todd’s voice is shy and timid as it always was, but it had conviction.

They're a bit shocked that his voice is the one they heard.

Few moments of silence before Knox replies, his head buried in his hands, “Don’t lie, Anderson.”

He sits up a little, leg bouncing against the metal bed, “Why would I lie? None of us knew the…extent, I guess, of how much of a bad father Mr. Perry was. Or how much it…affected Neil.”

It breaks his heart at the thought of his every—his _friend,_ being in pain at the thought of not being able to do as he wished, with his father cheering him on. He thinks about the play, about how he couldn't stop beaming with pride and admiration, Neil up on that stage like he _always_ belonged there. He couldn't take his eyes off the boy and Todd thinks now that Keating _noticed_. 

Knox rubs his face, leaning against the wall behind him, “I still feel like we could have done more. We could have annoyed the shit out of him until we got answers… or something.”

“Sure. We could have done a lot of things…I don't think this, this _ache_ is ever gonna go away, even if he's okay. The least we can do is try to…forgive ourselves.”

His voice cracks in the slightest. 

It comes back to Todd why he didn't talk. If he did, it would be a heart stopping wave of hurt and _God,_ he fucking _missed_ him. He can't. He shouldn't miss Neil the way he does. Not here, not in this school. Maybe in the 'outside world’. Just maybe. 

There's more silence, then a sigh from Charlie.

“I think that this is affecting one of us more than others.” 

Meeks looks confused, averting his gaze away from the fogged up window, “How do you mean? This is shitty for all of us.”

Todd realizes he’s wearing Neil’s flannel.

“Not sure. I just think one of us cares about Neil a bit more.”

No one retorts, no one laughs at how ridiculous that sounds. It's a statement hanging in the air, and no one will grab it— _especially_ not Todd. 

Shit. Is he blushing? Does Charlie know? He should leave now, go to Mr. Keating. Is that too obvious? He doesn't know. He decides on staying put, trying his best to hide his face.

—

There was a poem Neil once read at one of the meetings, something by Mary Oliver. She was one of Todd’s favorites. He can't seem to remember the title to save his life, still he remembers one line he pondered on a lot when he was awake.

“ _You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves .”_

He remembers vaguely that she also talks about _‘…your place in the_ _family of things.’_

Where was his place? Now that he was clearly _alive_ , given a second chance to find that place, what was he to do? He prayed that perhaps, his father looked at things through a different eye. That he had softened. Neil is _praying_ it holds true. 

And about loving what it loved…it was becoming clear in the cold, nearly silent hospital that Neil had an infatuation with someone he shouldn't. Not here, not in a place where tradition reigns supreme. There was something about that boy, something he couldn't put his finger on. He was starting to become grateful he wasn't lying in a casket.

Neil always thought Todd was a bit like a caged bird—they both were—and whenever Neil was around, that stupidly shy roommate of his seemed to sing more. 

Neil smiles, or at least he tries, when the memory of _that_ day in Keating’s class floats to the surface of his otherwise vacant mind. He only wishes Todd’s eyes had been open. 

_Wild Geese._

That was the title. 

—

“I told you, Perry. I don't want any stupid gifts. I hate birthdays, it’s just an excuse to celebrate how _old_ you are.” 

“Old? _You’re_ old? Then those bones we call teachers are probably dead!”

This made Todd laugh—Neil always knew how to do that.

“That’s plain rude. And, hey, my point _still_ stands. _No gifts.”_

Neil huffs like a toddler not getting his way, crossing his arms at the boy across from him, “What about a book? Nothing extravagant.”

Todd raises an eyebrow, smiling, “A book…” He thinks about it, sighing reluctantly since he knew Neil would keep pushing as he always did, “Fine. _One book.”_

Neil punches the air with a grin, as if he’d won an Olympic medal, “That’s the spirit, old man!”

Todd shakes his head, the grin on his face making his cheeks hurt, “You're something else.”

Were there _butterflies_ in his stomach?

—

The white flakes that had been fluttering down for two consecutive days had finally subsided. Todd can only think about how he wishes to be warm, for his hands to stop shaking—he knows deep down it's not because of the cold. They're walking to Keating’s, most likely looking pathetic to the other students. 

Todd looks up at the sky and feels nothing.

Keating is visibly surprised to see them, but he doesn't say a word as they sit in the back, leaving a spot for Neil. 

Todd decides he’s going to stay after class, if he can first get through it. Even if he still feels so, so, _so_ sick. 

Whatever Keating was teaching was going in one ear and out the other. Todd was staring at that empty desk, thinking about the times Neil would sneak glances at Todd and he’d just smile back, cheeks most likely bright pink. It was always longing looks during the reading of a love poem, a secret silent agreement- _this poem is for us._

His mind wanders to that possibility of the worst. What if Neil wasn’t okay? What if he really _was_ dead? Oh, _God,_ that lump in his throat is coming up faster than he’d like to admit. Todd shakes his head a little in a desperate attempt to keep those thoughts _out_ . Neil is fine. Neil is fine. _Neil Perry is fine._

The class was dragging on and on. Todd felt completely and utterly ill, dizzy even. Like he's come down with the flu. Anxiety was eating him whole, as it usually did. This situation was anything besides usual. 

Knox knows. He knew the moment he saw Todd running down the white hill, screaming with a type of agonizing heartbreak behind his voice. He knew looking over at the boy, who was bouncing his leg and flicking his pencil back and forth. He didn’t fidget when Neil was there. 

They came from haunted houses so they themselves turned into ghosts. So when apart from each other, that’s all they were. Two ghosts on autopilot. Together they were human, two lost souls finally finding peace. Knox knew this. He saw the truth behind every stolen stare, the brushing of hands in the hallways. It always had a _purpose._

Todd thinks this is a movie and the ending was traumatic, so he forgot it.

“He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

Those words from Keating are the ones that register in Todd’s head. He knew it was from _Wuthering Heights._

Neil hated that book.

—

For a reason Todd was yet to know, Neil loved fruit. Oranges, or clementines if you wish to be specific. Todd remembers taking one from the cafeteria as he walked back to their room and when he walked into that room, tossed it to Neil sitting by the window…

That look of joy, over something so _simple_! Over a fruit, nonetheless! It was as if he was the sunshine making those oranges grow in the orchards of California. Morocco, even! Todd vowed a silent vow that he would take Neil to California so he can have all the clementines in the world. So Todd could see that smile for as long as possible. 

—

This class, these days and moments were a long wistful wish to be elsewhere. To be alone with Neil, somewhere far from here? To be shouting to the mountains the words Todd would never be able to say?

God only knew.

_Upstream_ was on top of Todd’s grey and peeling binder. It was a Mary Oliver book, of course. Neil had read it before him and annotated it. Leaving lines he liked underlined in his favorite black pen, tiny hearts on the outside of paragraphs, dog eared pages. It was endearing.

Todd’s annotations were in red. 

The rest of the class is working on whatever they were given as Keating walks up to the dead poets, sulking and contemplating in the corner.

“I’ll be honest, boys, I’m proud of you being here.”

“What else is there to do?” Meeks mumbles. 

“Agreed,” Charlie adds, lifting his heavy head with a sigh, “Gotta have a distraction.”

Todd is reading Neil’s notes crammed into the margins. 

Keating tilts his head a little, eyebrow raised, “I assume you haven't been told yet.”

The air seems to change. Oh God _oh God,_ is all they think. This could be good or bad. _Really_ good or _really_ bad. There's no happy medium, no inbetween.

“…Told what?” Knox asks, his voice on the verge of shaking.

“Neil’s alive. Miraculously, his father walked in at just the right second. He and I had quite the talk, I must say. He’s in the medical ward, in a coma, but nonetheless. Alive.”

It’s like someone took a baseball bat and wacked Todd’s heart straight back into his chest, beating at a million miles per minute. His shaking legs and hands stop, those thoughts vanish and all he can think is--

“You’re joking.” Knox whispers so softly it’s a borderline breath.

Keating shakes his head, “Fit as a fiddle.”

_I can kiss him._

All the emotions washing over Todd were too much as he gripped the book and nearly smeared the half print half cursive writing that belonged to the boy he loved a little too much.

He feels like throwing up. 

“Can we visit him?” Pitts asks.

Keating nods, “I believe the nurse said he’ll be awake within the hours.”

The bell rings, and the boys scramble to pack their things, grins plastered on their faces.

Todd does the same, but his mind is racing and his movements are slowed. He decides he can’t talk about it. Not even to Keating.  
  


Hands still shaking. Heart still pounding. Still can't catch his breath. It won't stop. And he thinks it never will. 

—

The cave had become more than a meeting place for their poet society. It was just a place to hangout that wasn’t the courtyard which seemed a bit too noisy at all hours. It became a sanctuary for Todd, since commotion was never his forte. 

It was a crisp November afternoon, a Saturday filled with bitter coffee and the sound of pages being flipped through, quiet jazz from Meeks’ radio. The wind blew the crunchy leaves about, gusting every so often. 

Todd sat alone in the cave, trying to solve ridiculously hard math problems. He was never good at math, and probably never would be. 

There’s a woodpecker pecking away, living the life it’s told, as footsteps approach, then Neil pokes his head in, hair disheveled from the cold air. 

“Hi. Knew I’d find you here,’’ he says with that oh so gentle smile, sitting down beside Todd’s sprawled out books.

Todd could look at that smile forever, “Yeah, uh..just felt like it was too loud today.”

Neil nods in understanding. He always had a way of understanding, with ease and simplicity, “That’s okay. The world can always be a bit loud at times.”

_Sure is a bit quieter when you're around_ , Todd thinks. 

“Whatcha doin?” He asks, peeking over at the notebook on Todd’s lap.

“Math. Stupid math. Makes _me_ feel stupid.”

Neil frowns, no, _pouts,_ “You're far from stupid, Todd. It’s okay to not be perfect at everything, y'know.”

He looks at Neil, then back at his papers and huffs, “Whatever. I’m done with it for now.”

So, he shuts the notebook close and shifts his attention to the darkening skies outside. 

“You hear me? You're not stupid,” Neil repeats, his tone almost stern.

“Yeah. I hear you.”

“Good.”

They sit in silence for a bit, listening to nature and being grateful for these moments of tranquility. The moments where they felt…semi normal. 

Neil slips on those _unfairly_ adorable glasses as he begins to read. Todd gets the urge to put his head on his shoulder.

He doesn't.

Neil sighs a little, fingers tapping against the book, “Y'know, there are times when I feel like I don't belong here.”

Todd laughs a little, “Neither do I.”

It's a spur of the moment response, one he didn't think about. Neil looks up, smiling as always, “Oh?”

Todd gets flushed, wiping his already sweaty hands on his pant legs, “I mean…I…we’re not made for all this…this med school and lawyer and…and business stuff. I’m not like that… _you’re_ not like that.”

Neil nods, “ I've known that for a while. But I think we don't belong here for a… _different_ reason.”

Todd blinks. He thinks he knows the reason.

Neil scoots closer and _he’s_ the one to rest his body up against Todd’s, continuing to flip through the book he was reading. It was Lord of the Rings, and Todd could see he was struggling to read the tiny print, even with his glasses.

The shock of Neil being right there, _right_ next to him was so overwhelming that Todd couldn't even react so he asked with a, barely noticeable, shaky voice, “I can um…read that to you. If you want, I mean I know that's…that's weird, I—”

Neil cuts him off with a cheerful, “Sure!”

So there they sit, skipping dinner, because the love they felt for each other without having to confess it was nourishing enough.

_Everything is nourishment somehow or another._

_—_

Todd didn't go visit Neil with the rest of the crew. 

Said he didn't feel well, which was mostly true. He was still dizzy, his head was pounding, he felt like throwing up. He just wanted to lay down and sleep. For a long time.

He had never thought about…doing what Neil did. He didn't want to _die,_ per say, he simply wanted to sleep for as long as he could. That way, he wouldn't have to worry about his problems. The anxiety, his parents, the fidgeting, the way he felt too much. And maybe by the time he woke up, it would all disappear. 

Todd lays down on the uncomfortable but tolerable bed, staring at the ceiling, using one of Neil’s flannels as an extra pillow. 

And he simply… _cries._ Cries about what, he didn't know. Neil was fine! Neil was _fine._

Love is a fickle thing.

—

“Where's Todd?”, are, of course, the words to come out of Neil’s mouth once his eyes open to the blurry sight of his friends, half asleep but grinning like fools once they hear Neil’s voice. 

“Of course you ask about Todd!” Knox exclaims in a fake annoyed tone, “Not a, oh hey guys, i’m sorry but there's nothing in the afterlife? It’s just, ‘where's _todd_?’” He drags out Anderson's name, which makes everyone else, including Neil, laugh. 

It was like nothing nearly life altering had ever happened. 

They don't answer Neil’s question at first, only taking turns to give their friend the tightest hug they possibly could. 

Knox gives him a squeeze before sitting up, a mix of anger and hurt on his face, “You ever fucking do that again, Perry, and I’ll make sure to curse your name every day.” 

Neil sits up, wincing a bit at the pain from his wrist, “Got it, cap'n.”

Meeks pokes Neil’s chest, “Seriously, dude. I know we’re not therapists or whatever, but we’re the dead poets. We gotta stick together. That’s what friends do.”

Neil sighs, looking down at the bandage, “Yeah...now that I’m lying here I have no _idea_ what I was thinking.”

“All poets are haunted, Neil,” is the answer Charlie gives him after a few moments of pondering.

Neil laughs, shaking his head, “Whatever. Now, seriously. Where’s Todd? Please tell me he didn't…”

Like Todd, Neil always thought the worst. He was beyond grateful the nurses had taken him off his heart monitor because otherwise, the boys would see his heart beating faster than when he first met Todd’s shy eyes. 

Knox quickly shakes his head, “No, no _no_ , we wouldn't have let him. He's kinda…stopped functioning, honestly. Sounds dramatic, I know, but all of us…we haven't been going to class, but Todd especially. He cries a lot, goes to the cave a lot. I have no doubt that's where he is. He’s been even _more_ quiet _,_ if that's even possible.”

Neil feels absolutely _dreadful._ He didn't want to cause his friends pain, yet…

“Oh…” is all he manages to say. 

In the moments leading up to this one, the poets had understood with an explanation from Knox that there was something special between Neil and Todd. Even Gerard confessed he was _sick_ of the yearning— “like, why won’t they go kiss in the snow or something? it’s worse than Knox was with Chris!” 

Knox looks around to see if anyone else was around, thankfully there wasn't, as he lowers his voice, “If you don’t confess your undying love for that boy, we’ll do it for you.” 

Neil’s face turns bright red as he tries to play dumb, “I have no idea what you're talking about.” 

Charlie facepalms and the sound of his hand hitting his forehead echoes in the ward's ornate high ceilings, “God _damnit_ , Meeks.”

There's a shit eating grin on Steven’s face, “Hand over the money, pretty boy.” 

“I don't _have_ five dollars!” 

“Well then _get_ some!”

Knox laughs and playfully shoves Charlie as he pouts. He reaches over and ruffles Neil’s hair, “Don’t be like that. You can't hide secrets from us anymore.”

“That sounds like a threat, Overstreet.”

“So what if it is? Happiness in the form of true love is hard to come by, my friend. You got it right in the palm of your hand, don't let it fly away.”

It begins to snow and Neil takes notice how warm it feels surrounded by people who love him in a way a friend should. 

—

“I think New York sounds like a great idea.”

Neil had a map open, marking the sights he wanted to see with a black star, “I know right? I went there once as a kid, it’s like another world.”

Todd lights a candle as rain patterns against the window and the branches occasionally scratch against the walls as if a silent plea, _let me in_.

“I’ve always thought cities harbor something different that you can't get anywhere else. What's it like?” 

Neil watches the droplets, “I don't think you'd enjoy it.”

Todd unpeels a clementine, handing a piece to Neil without having to ask, “How come?”

Neil eats the citrus with a silent thank you, “It's loud. Lots of people, lots of happenings. But I’d take you to Central Park where it's quiet, I even know an amazing pizza place. We’d have a picnic, then I’d take you to Broadway. See Wicked maybe?”

Todd couldn't quite remember what Wicked was, as he could only focus on the gratefulness filling his heart. The appreciation for such understanding. The rain on the window, the smell of oranges, the flickering flame of the candle. This room was _holy_ , even if he didn't believe in that big man in the sky, and Neil was an angel. 

But this game they played; the dance around the truth. They wanted to read each other love poems, face to face in the tall grass fields, they wanted and _wanted_. 

“Whatever you want, Neil. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do.” 

—

Neil was discharged from the ward soon after the visit from the poets and the first thing he did was run down the hall to his room, flinging open the door to—!

No one.

He’s stuck for a moment, before he remembers what Knox had said. So, he throws on his coat and scarf, taking a notebook with him as he runs, more like speed walks, through the slightly melted snow to the cave.

As he approaches, he sees the soft glow of a candle. It's a warm contrast to the black and white world of December. 

Todd always seemed to be in eye catching color. 

Neil takes a deep breath, gathering every bit of courage he could find. Was he gonna be cliche and read some poem he had written? Maybe just sit down beside him and hug Todd until their arms were numb?

He lets his legs walk into the cave. 

Todd has his knees to his chest, eyes closed, tear stains on his cheek and his green sweater.

Wait—

“That’s my sweater…” 

It's a whisper, but it instantly catches Todd’s attention. 

He slowly stands up, voice so _tired_ , “Yeah.. um, mine…mine’s in the wash…”

“I think it looks nice on you.”

Then it's quiet. Two hearts beating as one, eyes locked in a stare holding a gauntlet of emotion. Being in each other's presence was like a perfect sunrise, it was both holy and Earthy. 

Neil steps more inside and wraps his slightly chilled arms around Todd, buries his freezing face into the warm neck of the boy he loved so much it ached and simply…stood. 

Todd does the same, silent tears falling and a silent mantra of ‘ _you're okay, thank God you're okay.”_

Neil breathes as if he's about to say something, but Todd cuts him off with a whisper, “You don't have to say anything.”

“Sure I do. I owe you an explanation.”

“No. No.”

Neil smiles a little as he faces Todd, taking in the beauty of his face, “What do you mean, _no?”_

Todd sniffs, copying that smile, “ _No_.” 

Their hearts are like a bass drum, beating methodically as Neil leans forward, gloved hand on a rosy cheek—

It’s like it was meant to be. Such a simple kiss, soft and gentle, but it’s filled with love that could never amount to anything else. 

Neither of them want to pull away, but they do eventually.

“I would come back from the dead for you, Todd Anderson.”

“And you did. You did, and if you ever do it again…I can't go through that again. I don't want to lose you with the chance of you…not coming back.”

Neil nods, “I’m not gonna leave ever again. You've got me forever, I promise.”

Todd kisses him again, grinning against Neil’s lips, “I’ve heard…New York is beautiful this time of year…”

Neil grins back, “It is. Much better than here, that's for sure.”

Another kiss—Todd didn't know where all this confidence was coming from but neither of them were complaining—and a soft laugh, “It's…it’s only a five hour drive…Christmas break starts today. Let's go.”

The poet back from the dead just blinks, “But it's loud…”

“I got earplugs, silly.”

Neil is full to the brim with joy, he picks Todd up and spins him around like in the movies. Todd can't contain his laughter, “We’ll get an…an apartment in Brooklyn! C'mon, I’m sure it's not that expensive!” 

“I love you _so_ much, Todd. We’ll get that apartment after graduation and we’ll leave this shitty town behind. The rest of the poets will come every weekend, everything will be the same but so different. We’re gonna find our place in the family of things, I know we will.”

Todd tears up, wanting to say so much… “I love you too. Think I have for a long time and I…I have no idea what my future brings, but…I…I'm certain you're part of it.”

“I can say the same thing to you.”

The boys go back to standing heart to heart in the comfortable and warm quietude. It's broken, however, by the running footsteps of their friends.

“Ohhh lover boys!” Knox shouts, jumping into the cave and nearly toppling Todd over.

“Will you ever leave me alone, Overstreet?” Todd tries to sound angry—he can't stop laughing. 

Knox snorts, slinging an arm around Todd’s shoulder like an older brother, “ _Never_!” 

The night was cold, even so, it wasn't something to run away from anymore. That cave on that night was homely, it was what the poets wrote about. It’s what _they_ wrote about. It was like nothing nearly life altering had ever happened. 

Neil read them _Wild Geese._

The car was packed, the snow had stopped, the traffic was clear. Keating waved them off, wishing them a happy holiday. Mr. Perry even gave them some money. 

They listened to Hozier and the 80s hits that Todd didn't particularly like the whole ride—even if Todd was reading Mary Oliver on his phone and wasn't fully paying attention to the music playing. Even if their fingers were intertwined with some type of conviction. 

And as they drive into the city of bright lights, the city of dreams, Todd reads part of _Wild Geese_ to himself.

‘ _You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.’_

This is, this _was_ their place, in this big and complicated family of things.


End file.
